


Only Chickflicks Allowed

by HypotheticalHunters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 19:10:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8590246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HypotheticalHunters/pseuds/HypotheticalHunters
Summary: The boys have just come back from a hunt, and you’ve never seen Dean this cut up before, the least you can do is to help him clean himself up. Fluff. Dean x Reader. Short oneshot.





	

It took almost every remaining last drop of hope out of you to see him like that.  
  
The scratches on his face and hands were tiny, but there were much larger wounds on his chest and shoulders. It was hard to tell exactly where the blood was coming from. This was the first time you’d seen him return from a hunt-an actual real-life hunt, and it terrified you. “Don’t worry, y/n.” was what he’d said. How could you not worry when the man in front of you was now barely recognisable as the man that walked out the bunker a few hours ago?  
  
You watched as Sam wandered off to the kitchen, presumably to grab them both a beer. A beer? at a time like this? “Want one?” You heard him call.  
“I’m good.” Dean shouted back, “I got some whiskey in my room. I’m gonna get cleaned up first.” He acted as if it was nothing, as if the blood stains on his skin weren’t evidence of whatever hell they’d just been through. You followed him as he headed through to the bathroom, watching closely; checking to see if he was limping, if his arm swung funny when he moved, just for anything even slightly wrong.  
“Woah there, Jack. You wanna come with me, ask next time. Don’t come barging after me.” You sighed and shook your head. You were hardly being forceful-or rather, much less forceful than the shining reference suggested-but you could see Dean was in a bad mood. His eyes bore a tiredness that you almost couldn’t stand to look at, that made you want to hold him and never let go.  
“I’m sorry, Dean…I just.”  
“You’re worried. I get it. No worries, Kiddo.” It hurt. It hurt when he called you that. You weren’t a kid, and you certainly weren’t his kid.  
“No, Dean, I…” You paused. He was staring at you now, green eyes swirling with the sadness and worry he got when he knew something was going on. He could read you like a book-or, well, in his case more likely a comic.  
“Y/n? Hey, y/n, snap out of it!” You blinked “You okay? You were staring at me for a second.” You nodded, slowly, too afraid to speak for fear of slipping your tongue. “You, uh, wanna come help me get cleaned up?”  
  
What? That wasn’t something he’d normally ask, In fact, he’d normally find that way too strange, or creepy, or whatever he’d call it. You nodded, following him into the bathroom as he sat down on the edge of the bathtub, and attempted to pull off his shirt. The thin fabric stuck to him like the clumps of thick, red, blood, and after only one failed attempt, he looked to you.  
“What? You want me to…” You trailed off, instructed him to lift up his arms, and pulled the shirt over his head. The stench of the blood, and dirt hit you and almost made you want to gag, but the warmth he was giving off made you never want to leave.  
“I swear, y/n, i just come back worse every time.” By now the damage was evident, there was a large cut across his shoulder-it seemed to have stopped bleeding, but it’d need some disinfecting before he could do anything else.  
“Here, Dean” You gulped “I got this” You took a towel and wet it under the tap. Dean almost hissed when you put it on his skin, then chuckled.  
“You know, I didn’t know any better i’d say you were just doing this to see me shirtless.” He joked, and you shook your head.  
“Or you’re my friend and you’re hurt?” You raised an eyebrow “Either way this feels like a scene out of some crappy chickflick.” Okay, you had to admit chick flicks weren’t that bad, but now wasn’t the time to get into whether love actually was a film worth watching. You’d had that argument countless times already.  
  
He chuckled again, and as he did so shifted himself. The towel fell from your hand and his shoulder, and onto the floor. You sighed. “Great, now it’s all dirty. I need a clean one to finish cleaning you up.” You reached down slowly to get it, and before you knew what was happening there he was. His lips were on yours and you were closer than you’d ever been before. The heat and smell and warmth of it all made your tummy tingle as your hands loosed on the towel again and pulled themselves round the back of his head. His arms wrapped around your waist, and you only had time to take a breath before the you could taste him again. It was sweet, and strong, and smelled of sweat and leather and gunpowder, and the mess that he was right now. Yet, all at the same time it was so much more gentler than you’d ever imagined. You would have panicked if he didn’t somehow manage to keep you so calm-you’d only done this a few times before, and your heart was threatening to jump out of your chest. Then, without a warning, he let go. You had nothing to say, didn’t know what to do.  
“No, y/n” he grinned “NOW it’s like a crappy chickflick. Hero gets wounded, someone fixes him up, they make out. sounds about right.”  
  
“..You watch more chickflicks then you let on.” It was all you could think of to say. Your lips still stung. Your heart was still beating a million miles. You looked down to the towel “You knocked that out of my hands on purpose, didn’t you?” He shrugged.  
  
“Shit happens. Now are we going to get me cleaned up, or what? I have whiskey in my room, and boy could I use a drink.”  
  
“You’re a mess, dean. We can’t rush sorting this-you’ll get sick or infected.”  
  
He smiled at you and laughed again, “eh, don’t worry about it.” He winked “Trust me, y/n, I’ve had far worse” and for some bizarre reason, you had a feeling that just this once he wasn’t talking about his wounds.


End file.
